


Calender Boys

by NeonPistachio



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Sappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Robbie and James have to take part in a charity calender. Robbie makes more of a hit than anticipated.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis
Comments: 28
Kudos: 172





	Calender Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I had entirely too much fun writing this bit of nonsense. Also, the Police Rehabilitation Centre at Flint House is a real police charity. I hope they wouldn’t mind me borrowing their name for this fic.

Robbie manages to be out of the office when Innocent comes round with the photographer to inspect all the troops. James, unfortunately, isn’t. 

‘Oh yes, you’ll be perfect,’ the woman decrees, eyeing him appraisingly. ‘Stand up, please?’ 

Glancing to Innocent, he gets a nod of command and duly stands. The woman looks him up and down. ‘Nice cheekbones,’ she says musingly. ‘And excellent height.’ She nods, pleased, and James resists the urge to stand to attention, deeply uncomfortable with this scrutiny. ‘Name?’ she asks.

James hesitates, uncertain what he’s unwittingly got himself in for by having nice cheekbones. Innocent leaps into the gap. ‘DS James Hathaway,’ she informs the woman. ‘Do you have any objections, Hathaway?’ she asks briskly.

‘To what, Ma’am?’ he enquires, unease growing. Innocent doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to listen to any objections he may or may not have.

‘Fundraising calender for the Police Rehabilitation Centre at Flint House,’ she tells him, and James vaguely remembers some email going round about that. He thought it was a ‘sign yourself up’ deal though, not ‘be press-ganged by the Chief Superintendent.’ 

‘The Met did very well with theirs,’ she informs him. James doesn’t think it a good idea to point out that the Met have a much larger pool of officers to call upon. Oxfordshire, by comparison, is likely to have a much poorer showing. Especially if James is part of it. ‘I expect full co-operation,’ Innocent adds, ‘unless you have a genuine and legitimate concern?’

James knows Innocent well enough to say that if he did have a genuine concern he would be excused, but he’s pretty certain she wouldn’t accept ‘I always look awkward in photos’ as legitimate. 

‘No, Ma’am,’ he tells her, resigned, and she nods approvingly. 

‘Excellent,’ the other woman, who still hasn’t been introduced, says. ‘I think we’ll have you down for November. Good winter colouring.’ She grins at him, and James manages something of a smile in response. Thank God he’s not December – he’d probably be put in a Santa suit. 

‘Kim will email you with the date of your appointment,’ Innocent tells him. ‘And she’ll need to know clothing sizes.’

The photographer – Kim – eyes him again. ‘Don’t think we’ll be needing props,’ she tells him, as though that’s supposed to be reassuring. James would prefer that there be something in the picture besides himself. He’s immensely grateful when his phone rings; it’s Lewis. 

‘Excuse me, Ma’am,’ he offers, and Innocent nods at him and ushers Kim out of the room. James answers the phone with greater than usual pleasure at the sound of Lewis’s voice. ‘Yes sir.’

*

As promised, Kim emails. James views the list with gloomy resignation. He’s got to admit, apart from himself she’s made good choices – PCs Harrison, Tiebe, Monk and Powell, DCs Chambers, Jannah and Sloane, DS Rosen and DS McLeod, DI Peterson and DI Llewellyn. 

And DS James Hathaway.

Bloody hell.

‘What’s the matter?’ Robbie asks, choosing this inopportune moment to return from the canteen. He comes to peer over James’s shoulder, huffing with gentle laughter when he reads the email. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it would be your thing,’ he comments, straightening up. 

‘Our fearless leader volunteered me,’ James tells him, staring again at the list. Why on earth did she pick him?

‘You don’t sound keen,’ Robbie observes. ‘If you really don’t want to do it, Innocent’ll probably let you off.’

James stiffens his spine. ‘I’ll be fine, sir. I’ll just close my eyes and think of the Police Rehabilitation Centre.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Robbie tells him, crossing to his own desk. ‘So long as it’s not Marion Hammond taking the photos.’ James shudders at the thought. ‘An’ at least you’ll be in good company,’ Robbie adds.

‘Including DI Peterson,’ James murmurs, wondering if the man volunteered himself. Behind him, Robbie snorts. 

‘Ah well, nothing’s perfect,’ he says. 

*

Even though the list of participants is only emailed to Innocent and those directly involved, James isn’t surprised when it becomes common knowledge around the station. Unfortunately, the first he knows of this is from Hooper. ‘Never thought you’d be the type to take part in a beefsteak calender, Sarge,’ he grins. 

‘I believe it’s ‘beefcake’,’ James manages, and it mostly comes across calmly. ‘And it’s for a good cause.’ He makes his escape swiftly, but Hooper isn’t the last to comment on it. By the time he leaves for the day just about everybody in the nick has felt the need to express their surprise. James can’t help wondering if it’s the fact that he’s taking part that has them so shocked, or the fact that he was selected in the first place. 

Thankfully, beyond the first comment Robbie hasn’t said anything. A mercy gratefully received, James thinks; he’ll put off hearing Robbie's comments on his unsuitability for as long as he can. He goes to band practice then heads home where he has to stop himself from opening a bottle of wine. Tomorrow’s going to be bad enough without an added hangover. 

When he arrives at work the next day Robbie is already there, working his way through a stack of expenses reports. ‘I could have done those, sir,’ James tells him, a little dismayed that his governor got to it before him but also somewhat relieved to be spared. Anything is better than doing expenses.

Robbie shrugs. ‘It won’t kill me. Can’t have you slaving over a hot photocopier til all hours; you need your beauty sleep if you’re going to be representing us.’

‘I’d need to sleep until the shoot, then,’ James mutters to himself, but Robbie clearly hears. He gives James an unreadable look. 

‘You’re fine as you are. You’ll do us proud, man,’ he says, and goes back to the expenses while James busies himself with his computer and tries desperately not to blush at the somewhat backhand complement. 

*

James has put off thinking about the photo shoot until Kim sends him a reminder the day before his appointment. He wonders half-heartedly if he can contract some terrible disfiguring illness before tomorrow afternoon, but decides on reflection that Innocent would probably just make him reschedule for after he recovered. On top of that, Oxford’s criminal fraternity have apparently all gone on holiday. He and Robbie haven’t had a seriously involving case for more than a week, and he’s not banking on anything coming up in the next twenty-four hours. 

He spends the morning of the dread day out with Lewis interviewing suspects about a car theft ring. They have lunch at the cafe on the square, sitting outside so James can smoke despite the decidedly chill weather conditions before he has to wend his way to Kim’s studio. To his surprise, when he starts walking Robbie falls into step beside him. ‘Sir?’

‘Thought I’d keep you company,’ Robbie grins. ‘Stop you from running off.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ James says, resigned and a little apprehensive. He still doesn’t know what this shoot involves. What if he has to get undressed in front of Robbie? That can only end in disaster. 

The walk to Kim’s studio seems both endlessly long and over far too soon. Kim greets him at the door. ‘Just as handsome as I remembered,’ she tells him. ‘And who have you brought me?’ She’s eyeing Robbie calculatingly, and even though it’s the same impersonal look she gave James when they first met, James likes it even less when it’s aimed at Robbie. Robbie deserves appreciation, not calculation.

‘You’ll do very nicely,’ she’s now telling Robbie, who’s putting his hands up to ward her off. 

‘I’m just along for moral support,’ he tells her firmly. 

‘Not any more you’re not,’ Kim tells him briskly. ‘DI Peterson’s had to pull out. I was going to email Jean for a recommendation for a replacement, but now one’s kindly come to me.’ Her grin is more like a smirk. ‘Unless, of course, you’re not police?’

‘I am,’ Robbie tells her, and James can hear the reluctance in his voice. ‘But what do you want me for? There’s got to be someone better.’

‘No,’ Kim tells him, and James has to agree. There’s no one better than Robbie. ‘We want to appeal to a range of ages and tastes,’ Kim continues. ‘I don’t know if you saw the full list, but a lot of the others are on the younger end of the scale. You’re perfect.’

Part of James wants to protest that Robbie won’t just appeal to older women. And men. There’s at least one younger man who is very appreciative of him. But he can’t say that. Instead, the devil on his shoulder prompts him to speak up. ‘Go on, sir. It’s for the Rehabilitation Centre.’ He leans a little closer. ‘And, of course, if DI Peterson can’t fulfil his obligations, it is the duty of another senior officer to step into the breech.’ Both of them know what he’s really implying; it’s childish, but this would definitely be sticking their tongues out to Peterson. 

Robbie looks at him for a long moment then sighs. ‘Go on then. For the Fund.’ He points at Kim. ‘I’m not shucking me kit, though!’ And, well, that is a side effect James had _not_ considered. He wonders if Kim would be amenable to that...

‘Don’t worry,’ Kim says, to James’s disappointment. ‘It’s all family-friendly. Nothing beyond a few loosened buttons.’

That’s both a relief and a disappointment. ‘Why did DI Peterson have to pull out?’ James asks, to distract himself.

‘He was injured in a raid last night, apparently,’ Kim tells them as she leads them through to the studio proper. ‘Two black eyes, stitches in his lip and a broken nose. I can touch things up in photoshop, but not to that extent.’

‘Couldn’t you have waited til he healed?’ Robbie grumbles, and Kim flashes him a grimace.

‘No time. This is going to be printed next week,’ she tells them, and James wishes he’d know this earlier. Maybe his plan of a disfiguring illness would have worked after all. 

‘James, you’ll go first,’ Kim directs them. ‘Sit over there where the light’s good, please.’ She’s all brisk efficiency, moving about the room according to some mysterious agenda. James is watching her closely, but it’s not until she’s standing beside him with a bunch of tubes and brushes in her hands that he realises what she’s intending. 

‘Don’t fuss,’ she tells him, correctly interpreting his look of horror. ‘It’s just so you don’t look washed out under the lights. It’s all hypo-allergenic too,’ she adds, setting the make up down. ‘We’re not going to go overboard – just a little mascara, maybe some eyeliner. You’ll hardly notice it, but it will make your eyes stand out on camera.’ She begins unscrewing some tube of something, and James breathes a small sigh and prepares to endure.

Across the room, Robbie is watching cautiously, obviously calculating his odds of escaping the attention. No piss-taking comes forth – on this occasion, they’ll both be suffering. A vow of silence is the way to go. 

‘Perfect,’ Kim declares after a few minutes. She was telling the truth – it’s a light coating of makeup, from what James can tell. There’s been no powder slathered on, as he imagined, just a light brushing of something. He still feels faintly ridiculous, though. 

In the end, the shoot isn’t as terrible as he feared. He’s not made to undress, or at least he is, but only to put on the clothes provided by Kim. The shirt and trousers aren’t that different to what he would normally wear. The tie is lavender, and James smiles inwardly. It must be his colour. Kim nods approvingly at him when he comes out, cocking her head to the side. ‘Very good. Pity I didn’t think of a waistcoat too.’ She hefts the camera with impressive ease given the size of it relative to the size of her, and nods to the platform and arranged spotlights. ‘Shall we?’

He was dreading a themed calender but apparently, like the Met, Oxfordshire is going for style rather than cheese. Kim directs him with military precision: tie done up, tie loosened, tie untied, tie off. Cuffs unbuttoned, cuffs rolled back. ‘Shoulders back!’ she keeps telling him. Before long it becomes less awkward and more like a series of exercises. Almost meditative in its way, and he stops being self-conscious over Robbie's eyes on him. ‘Good!’ Kim declares. ‘You’re loosening up. Now let’s try something else.’

_Something else_ is expressions, and now James just feels silly, making faces for the camera. He would never have though his long-ingrained habit of schooling his expression would be useful for this. 

‘Chin up,’ Kim directs. ‘Close your eyes a bit. Don’t smile!’ The camera clicks.

After several shots like this, Kim pulls back to check the screen on her camera. ‘Very ‘aristocratic thug’,’ she muses. ‘Not bad, but I don’t think that’s the image we’re going for.’

Eventually, she seems to find a pose that pleases her. James can’t see how it’s different from anything else they’ve tried, but Kim is making pleased noises and ushering him over to the side. ‘Right, you can get changed while I sort out your friend.’ James thankfully retreats to change and scrub the makeup off his face. 

When he returns, a disgruntled Robbie is sitting at the same small table while Kim dusts at him with makeup brushes. ‘Stay still!’ she admonishes him. 

Robbie protests when Kim presents him with a shirt so dark it looks almost black. The only hints of colour come when the light hits it and the threads shimmer midnight blue. ‘I can’t wear that! I’ll look like mutton dressed as lamb!’

Kim is taking no nonsense, however. ‘Be thankful you’re about the same size as DI Peterson, or you’d have to do this in just your vest!’ She pushes him firmly towards the small bathroom. James recovers from the thought of Robbie in just a vest in time to offer words of encouragement.

‘It’s all for a good cause, sir. Just think of the Rehabilitation Centre,’ he murmurs to Robbie as he passes, and Robbie gives him a dirty look; James admits there might have been a hint of smirk to his words. 

‘Less of your cheek, Sargent,’ Robbie grumbles, but he goes without any more complaints. When he emerges, tucking the tails of the shirt into the slate-grey trousers Kim gave him, James just about swallows his tongue. The shirt is a little tighter than Robbie usually wears, and much better fitted. It emphasises the breadth of Robbie's shoulders, defines his waist, and makes his wonderful blue eyes stand out even more than usual. On top of that, James thinks Robbie's posture is more upright; he must know how good he looks. 

Oddly, Robbie looks to him for approval before looking to Kim. ‘Not at all mutton, sir,’ James manages, and when Robbie turns to Kim James wonders if he could excuse himself to lie down in a dark room for a little while. The trousers, definitely more tailored than Robbie would choose for himself, cling to Robbie's thighs and mould to his arse. James feels ridiculous, like some Regency maiden fainting at the sight of an attractive gentleman in well-fitted breeches. He takes himself quietly off to the back of the room to swoon in peace. 

If James’s turn in front of the camera felt both ridiculous and a little tedious, Robbie by comparison seems to find the whole thing deeply uncomfortable. Kim is beginning to get frustrated. ‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ she tells him, yet again. ‘And don’t pull on your ear!’

James drags his thoughts away from the often indulged in fantasy of nipping at that much-abused ear in time to catch the pleading look Robbie sends his way; he removes himself from his dark corner and comes to Robbie's aid. ‘Shall we take a quick break?’ he suggests to Kim, and she frowns but nods, running a hand through her short dark hair with visible irritation. 

‘Five minutes, then we get back to it.’ She turns away, fiddling with her camera, and Robbie steps off the platform he’s been standing on with alacrity. 

‘Come on,’ he says to James, voice low. ‘Let’s just go. There’s no point me doing this. Innocent’ll just have to find someone else.’ His tone is commanding, but James can hear just how unsettled he is by the whole thing. James risks reaching out to lay a hopefully comforting hand on Robbie's arm.

‘Calm down, sir,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re doing fine. If you really want to go we can, but don’t be so hard on yourself.’ Robbie gives him a look that clearly says James is out of his mind. James persists. ‘Look, Kim wants this calender to go well, if only because it will promote her business. She wouldn’t have chosen you if she didn’t think you met the criteria.’

‘But she didn’t choose me, did she?’ Robbie protests. ‘I just happened to be here and the right size for the clothes. It was convenience.’

‘Maybe convenience played a part,’ James acknowledges, ‘but that’s not all. You’re an attractive man, sir,’ he says, risking a little truth and hoping wildly it doesn’t reveal too much. ‘You’ll do us proud.’ _You’ll do me proud_ , he wants to say, but it’s not appropriate and wouldn’t be welcome. He waits for Robbie's verdict. 

Robbie stares at him for a long moment, and James’s heart begins to beat faster. Has he given himself away? Does Robbie realise James wasn’t just talking in the abstract? Eventually Robbie sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘Alright then, lad,’ he says softly. ‘I know you weren’t keen either. I’ll put me game face on.’

‘That’s the spirit, sir,’ James says, sympathy rising but determination rising higher. ‘And really, you don’t need to worry about how you look in that shirt. It’s very flattering.’ The words slip out before he can hold them back, and he scrambles wildly to cover them. ‘I’m sure Dr Hobson would agree with me.’

Robbie snorts, but not with amusement. ‘That’s the least of me worries,’ he mutters, and turns away, trudging back across the room as though going to his execution, leaving a confused James in his wake. 

The pep talk seems to have helped – Robbie is more compliant with Kim’s instructions, but James can tell he’s still not relaxed. He hates watching his boss miserable, the instinct to sooth is almost overwhelming, so it doesn’t really surprise him when he finds himself standing closer and closer to the platform, trying to give silent encouragement. It might be his imagination, but he thinks Robbie is standing straighter again. Kim seems to be clicking away slightly faster, though her instructions are still tinged with frustration. 

James watches this, considering. ‘Would it help if you were sitting down, sir?’ If Robbie didn’t feel so exposed up there he might relax a little. He looks to Kim to see if this meets her agreement.

Kim shrugs. ‘We can try?’ She too looks to Robbie. Robbie shrugs in agreement.

Kim’s props store has everything from folding camp chairs to something that looks a lot like a throne. Given the choice James would have selected the Victorian-style desk chair for Robbie – the old world elegance would make his usual alpha-male way of sitting even more authoritative. But it’s not his choice.

The spindle back chair Kim directed him to fetch works wonders. With something to work with Robbie is more at ease, adopting his usual wide-legged seat straight away. Kim begins clicking away almost immediately, her directions now much less frustrated and more absent as Robbie relaxes and works with her. James retreats from the platform once more, taking refuge in his dark corner. Confident Robbie, dressed like that, leaning forward engagingly with his sleeves rolled up... boy-next-door charm on full display, charm that James is certain hides a lot of heat waiting to be unleashed… Robbie’s blue, blue eyes finding James’s every so often and smiling at him... it’s practically soft-core porn. _‘Turn your eyes away, for they overpower me,’_ rings in his head.

Within half an hour Kim declares herself satisfied. ‘Thank God,’ Robbie mutters, leaving the stage and grabbing his clothing immediately. ‘Thought it would never end.’ He emerges from the bathroom within minutes, face damp from scrubbing off the makeup. Kim nods to them both.

‘Nice to meet you, gentlemen.’ She’s already busy with her computer, photo after photo of Robbie crossing her screen. They say their own goodbyes and make their escape. 

‘We are never mentioning this again,’ Robbie says darkly as they leave the studio.

‘Yes sir,’ James agrees. ‘Pint?’ he offers.

‘As soon as humanly possible,’ Robbie tells him. ‘Can’t believe I went through with that.’

‘It’s for a good cause, sir,’ James reminds him, and hopes they can forget about the whole thing.

*

Initially, it seems like his hopes are coming to fruition. As November wanes and December flourishes, there’s nothing to suggest the calender will be anything more than a bit of a joke around the nick and certainly nothing to suggest the general public seems aware of it. Christmas passes as peacefully as it ever does when too many people are stuck indoors with easy access to alcohol and the presence of extended family. Robbie goes up to Manchester for baby Jack’s first Christmas, James works so he can have New Year off – his band has been asked to play at the drinks reception of a friend of a friend. 

Unfortunately, in the end Oxford will not let them forget for long. 

The first week of January, James walks into the morgue and all-too-quickly realises the clinical environment has a new addition. Smiling charmingly from the wall, DS MacLeod represents January in the Oxfordshire Police charity calender. James hides his wince at the sight. He has eleven months until he has to see his own face up there.

Robbie’s photo will not be on display until September, but James imagines the good Dr Hobson is eagerly anticipating. A small part of him certainly is. He wonders if he should once again nudge Robbie towards her – things had looked promising there for a while, but the two of them seem to have settled back into being friends again. James has to admit a part of him is disappointed; Robbie is too special not to have someone who appreciates him and who he appreciates back. Obviously James isn’t a candidate, but he’s sure Dr Hobson would be delighted to take on the role. 

Another part of him wants to stand guard in front of Robbie and shout NO! That’s selfish, though, and Robbie deserves better. James squashes the feeling down and prepares himself to extol Laura’s virtues next time he and Robbie sit down with a pint. Could he suggest something about New Year’s resolutions?

As it turns out, though, if for whatever reason Robbie and Laura aren’t going to make a go of it, Robbie suddenly has a whole slew of new admirers. 

James doesn’t realise this is what it is at first. Robbie and he are usually quite egalitarian when it comes to coffee excursions – James goes for a fag, and Robbie uses it as an excuse to stretch his back. Suddenly, however, Robbie has James doing all the coffee runs. 

James doesn’t really mind; it’s an expected part of a bagman’s duties, caffeinating their inspector. But it seems a little suspicious to anyone who watches Robbie as closely as James does. Neither of them can stomach more than two cups a day of the canteen or break room offerings – the stuff is bitter and gritty, and in James’s opinion doesn’t actually deserve to be called coffee. Luckily, the coffee shop down the road does a decent cup without breaking the bank, and the staff there are friendly. James can’t imagine why Robbie would suddenly have a problem going there. 

The answer comes after a particularly frustrating day interviewing witnesses who have seemingly witnessed nothing and suspects who are all far too suspicious. Also it’s sleeting, and James wants a coffee and a cigarette and to be allowed to go back to his nice warm office and not talk to anyone about anything to do with this case. He will settle for just a coffee and a cigarette, though. 

Beside him, Robbie is looking as fed up as James feels, and James makes an executive decision to stop the car at the coffee shop near the nick. When he swings into a miraculously free parking place outside it, Robbie looks even less enthusiastic than before. ‘Can’t you wait to get your fix until we’re back at the station?’ he complains.

‘With respect, sir, the coffee at the station should be quarantined as a biohazard,’ James tells him firmly. ‘I’ll get one for you too,’ he says, a peace offering, and gets out of the car. Immediately the sleet begins clinging damply to him, soaking into his clothes far too quickly, everything uncomfortably damp within seconds. His instinct is to hurry into the shop, but he can already see there’s a queue six people deep and only Brenda working the coffee machine and the till. He’ll have to wait at least five minutes before he can place his order, and if it’s going to take him that long to get his caffeine fix he might as well satiate his other craving in the meantime. Accordingly, he pulls out his lighter and fags, sheltering in the scant protection of the doorway as he lights up. The first drag is much needed relief and he closes his eyes to simultaneously appreciate it and block out the sight of sleet still falling thick and fast. 

The slam of the car door brings him back. ‘Thought you were getting coffee,’ Robbie says, and he sounds pissed now. ‘I’m not bloody waiting about here for you to have a fag. Give me the keys. You can walk back.’

‘There’s a queue, sir,’ James tells him, nodding to the shop behind him and trying not to take Robbie's words personally; they’re both on edge with this bloody case. Far too many self-important nobs involved. He’s pretty certain at least one of them will have already been on at Innocent, so they’ll both be in for a bollocking when they get back. ‘Decided to wait til it cleared a bit.’ He takes another drag and speaks a little recklessly. ‘Can’t say I’m eager to hurry back for our lecture.’

He’s more than half expecting a sharp word and to have Robbie take the keys off him, but after a second there’s a short huff and Robbie's voice, rueful agreement replacing the frustration. ‘Can’t say I’m too keen an’ all. Think it would be pushing it to get coffee to sit in?’

‘Probably,’ James concurs reluctantly, his own frustration dying back at Robbie's restored good humour. ‘Though I don’t think a Danish would be out of the question.’

‘Canny lad,’ Robbie says approvingly, and suddenly the horrible weather isn’t so cold, the almost endearment warming him from the inside. ‘Better hurry, though. Looks like they’ll be gone soon.’ James eyes the barely smoked cigarette in his hand, reluctant to relinquish it just yet. Robbie rolls his eyes and grimaces. ‘Suppose I can brave it.’ 

James obligingly moves away from the door, and it must be his imagination that Robbie takes an apprehensive breath before entering the shop. James returns to his cigarette, equilibrium much restored.

The warmth of the coffee shop is nearly painful after his five minutes outside. The queue has dispersed to tables with their drinks and food and there is only one person ahead of Robbie now. James goes to join him, pleased to see there is one of Robbie's preferred Danishes left. Robbie looks oddly reluctant, and James wonders if he’s about to discover the source of Robbie's unwillingness to fetch coffee. 

He is. ‘Inspector Lewis,’ Brenda purrs. James has to stop himself staring in surprise as she leans her ample figure forward over the counter. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while,’ she continues, eyeing Robbie up and down in a manner James can only describe as ‘lascivious.’ ‘What’s been keeping Oxford’s finest busy?’

‘Hi Brenda,’ Robbie offers, ever polite. ‘Just work, you know how it is. Can we get two coffees to go, an’ one of those cherry Danishes. What do you want, James?’ he asks, turning bodily towards him. Caught suddenly under Robbie's gaze as he silently pleads for James’s help, James can’t speak for a second. Robbie looking at him like that… unconsciously, he licks his lips, and the flicker of movement must draw Robbie's eye as his gaze drops to James’s lips. ‘Can I get a wholemeal croissant, please?’ he manages after a second, quickly tearing his eyes away from Robbie lest some of his thoughts show on his face. Rallying, he glances at his watch. ‘Sir, you have to return that phone call?’

Robbie picks up on the out immediately. ‘Yeah, thanks James. See you, Brenda.’ He hurries out, and Brenda watches him go with covetous eyes. While James can understand the impulse, he does still have to get back to the station. He clears his throat slightly, and Brenda straitens up, giving him a distinctly less enthusiastic look. Behind her, on the wall, James suddenly spots the police calender and light dawns.

‘You have an admirer, sir,’ he comments to Robbie as he climbs into the car, coffees and pastries in hand. Looking uncomfortable and pulling on his ear, Robbie nods.

‘Aye. That bloody calender. You know she wrote her number on me cup once!’ He looks so unnerved that James can’t resist poking a little gentle fun.

‘You’ll notice she’s done it again,’ he says, and Robbie looks even more unnerved. 

‘Think you’ll find that’s your cup, sergeant,’ he says firmly, plucking the unadorned cup out of the cardboard tray. 

‘My mistake, sir,’ James says, as blandly as he can, turning the remaining cup so the ‘Inspector Lewis’ clearly printed on it is visible. Robbie shoots him a look that says he knows James is taking the piss, but isn’t going to call him on it right now. 

‘Let’s get back to the nick,’ is all he says, and James bites his lip to stop a grin and starts the engine.

*

James doesn’t comment on Robbie's continued reluctance to visit the coffee shop. Robbie is too much a gentleman to say anything cutting to Brenda, so James will fetch coffee and run interference as needed. Which is easy enough when it’s Brenda at the coffee shop, but less so when it’s at work.

The day after the calender came out, some wag separated out all the photos and stuck them up in the break room. James is mostly resigned – he can’t really hide his involvement, and Robbie’s photo has been stuck to the wall slightly to the left of the notice board, so James can sneak glances at that very appealing picture while pretending to be fascinated by whatever’s been pinned to the board today. Every time he does he’s transported back to the studio, remembering Robbie in the shirt, how he’d looked when he first came out wearing it, the patch of skin that was visible at the neckline. It doesn’t show in the photo, the memory just for James, something extra for him even as he enjoys the excellent photo that was finally selected.

Clearly, however, he isn’t the only one in the nick who’s noticed how very good Robbie looks.

DI Anne Dillon is a lot more subtle about her flirting than Brenda is. It’s little things – the way she shakes her dark hair back, touches Robbie's arm and smiles at him. The way that, though in the four years since she came to work in Oxford their cases have only intersected a handful of times, suddenly she wants Robbie's input on a regular basis. Yes, she’s working vice, Robbie's old division, and she’s still relatively new to Oxford, but surely he can’t be offering her that much insight. But Robbie doesn’t seem to mind, seems quite happy to chat with her in the break room or in the corridor in passing. She invites him to the pub, frames it as an invitation to James as well, but he can tell where he’s not wanted. So he just smiles and murmurs something about meeting a friend, and ignores his imagination conjuring up disappointment in Robbie's eyes. 

‘Good evening, sir?’ he asks Robbie the next day. Robbie nods, but it seems a little lacklustre. 

‘Alright,’ he replies. ‘We got talking about rugby. Apparently her daughter plays at university.’

‘Right up your street then, sir,’ James suggests. Perhaps, if nothing is going to happen with Dr Hobson, DI Dillon will be the one to win Robbie's heart. The thought hurts, as it always does, but James is long used to that. Their precious friendship will be enough for him – curries on the couch, beer down the pub, crap telly after a long case; he will share this with Robbie and count himself luckier than he ever imagined. To dream of anything more is hopeless foolishness. 

‘Are you going to see her again?’ he asks, as casually as possible, head down in his in tray. Out of the corner of his eye he watches carefully. 

Slowly, Robbie shakes his head. ‘She’s nice enough,’ he says, and James tries not to scare Robbie off with too much interest at this quiet admission. ‘But -’ Robbie starts, then breaks off, and there’s deep, deep sadness in his eyes that James knows only as associated with one thing. ‘She looks a bit too much like Val,’ Robbie says, and James bites the inside of his cheek not to offer unwelcome if sincere sympathy. ‘I put me finger on it last night,’ Robbie continues. ‘Couldn’t work it out before. Spoilt things a bit.’ He’s quiet for long moments, and James holds still, not willing to intrude on his memories. Eventually Robbie pulls himself out of the well. ‘Besides,’ he adds. ‘She as good as admitted she only noticed me when that bloody calender came out. I’d like to think if I am going to date someone, they’d like me for more than that!’

_I fell in love with you long before the calender,_ James doesn’t say. ‘I’m sure you’ll find someone among your admirers,’ he offers sweetly, and Robbie huffs in response, calls him a cheeky sod and tells him to ‘go an’ track down that bloody report from Stores.’ James gives him his best ‘attentive, dutiful sergeant’ look, stands to attention and snaps off a crisp ‘yes sir.’ He leaves their office with Robbie shaking his head in secret amusement, sadness lifting, and James counts that as a win even if he does have to spend the morning taking inventory of every piece of office equipment and box of stationary issued to the team. 

*

‘Me bloody neighbour’s got one now!’ Robbie growls, entering the office looking like a thundercloud. 

‘One what, sir?’ James asks, not looking up from his typing.

‘One of those calenders,’ Robbie informs him. ‘Told me how nice me shirt was.’

‘I told you it was flattering, sir,’ James replies, conscientiously continuing with his typing even those he’s pretty certain he’s just typing gibberish at the moment, distracted by the memory of Robbie in that shirt, and how his shoulders looked. Broad and strong and… and James has just typed ‘shoulders’ into his report. He hits backspace as quickly as he can. 

*

‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’ the woman muses, and James watches as Robbie goes through the same mental inventory as himself – witness? Suspect? Academic bigwig? Facetiousness complaint? Her face doesn’t match to any of those lists, and judging by his expression she’s not ringing any bells for Robbie either.

Before either of them can say anything, however, she snaps her fingers with a look of triumph. ‘That calender!’ she exclaims. ‘And you were on that Barker website before it shut down, weren’t you?’

Stuck waiting for the barman to take their orders, Robbie can only nod in agreement as the woman gives him a decidedly appreciative look. James, summarily ignored, grins to himself as Robbie is gently and ruthlessly flirted with. It’s almost funny, Robbie’s baffled expression. The woman is probably a few years older than James, stylishly dressed, and with a self-professed weakness for men in uniform. James is giving their order as Robbie points out that he wasn’t it uniform for the calender; this doesn’t put the woman off, and with Robbie looking reluctantly charmed despite his initial misgivings and his dislike for ‘that bloody calender,’ as he always refers to it, James slides Robbie's pint along the bar and goes to find a table for himself. Sitting down, he amuses himself wondering if DI Lestrade, the star of the Met’s calender, could give Robbie tips on avoiding over-enthusiastic fans.

Somewhat to his surprise, it’s not long before Robbie joins him. ‘Fine friend you are,’ he grumbles, budging James along the bench. ‘Saving yourself an’ leaving me without backup.’

‘You seemed to be handling things capably, sir’ James returns. ‘Your new friend didn’t want to come too?’

Robbie snorts. ‘That bloody calender,’ he begins. ‘Don’t know why I let you talk me into it. Ridiculous. All these people suddenly acting like I’m some kind of...’ he trails off, floundering for an appropriate term.

Ever helpful, James suggests one. ‘Sex symbol, sir?’ He smirks as Robbie splutters. 

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Robbie glares at him. ‘Just, they all keep looking at me like I’m something I’m not. I’m just an old copper. Nothing special in that.’

James has to physically bite his tongue to keep the protest inside. Robbie is definitely special, and James hates hearing him put himself down like that. ‘I think Dr Hobson might disagree,’ is all he says, but Robbie is having none of this either.

‘Will you give it a rest about Laura!’ he tells James, setting down his pint glass, clearly exasperated. ‘We’re just friends!’ James opens his mouth to make some gentle suggestion that perhaps there could be more, if Robbie wanted, but Robbie forestalls him. ‘We talked about it,’ he tells James in a quieter voice. ‘Decided we’re neither of us what the other wants. For the best, probably.’

Now it’s James’s turn to protest. ‘With respect, sir,’ he begins, carefully addressing his pint glass, ‘I have to disagree.’ He doesn’t let Robbie speak before continuing, talking faster to get his words out before his courage fails. ‘You are, if you will forgive me saying, a decent and kind man who deserves to be loved. Dr Hobson would agree with me, I’m sure, even if you have decided not to pursue a relationship. It would be a desperate tragedy if you never found someone else.’ He can feel his ears burning and he’s gripping his glass like a lifeline. He forces himself to relax his grip a little as he waits for Robbie's verdict.

Instead of the outraged or uncomfortable words he expected, Robbie sighs. ‘Soft lad,’ he says, and James looks at him in surprise at the unexpected tone of his voice. Robbie's expression is as fond as his words. ‘I meant it’s for the best to talk about it now, instead of ruining a friendship trying for something that’s not going to work,’ he tells James, and James can feel the burn in his ears spreading to his face even as he stops himself slumping in relief that Robbie hasn’t taken offence at James’s speech. 

‘Oh. That’s good,’ he manages awkwardly, and Robbie shakes his head at him, still fond. 

‘Fancy getting some food?’ he asks, taking pity on James, and James stands with alacrity. 

‘I’ll get the menus,’ he tells Robbie, then with an effort at normality; ‘I could see if your friend wants to join us?’

‘Just get the menus, smart-arse,’ Robbie tells him, rolling his eyes. 

*

It was funny to begin with, Robbie's obvious surprise and ill-concealed horror at the sudden attention. James though it would die down soon enough, a burst of interest when the calender came out which would fade, possibly with a resurgence around September, Robbie's month. But it’s been two months now with no sign of the interest dispelling, and if it’s starting to get on James’s nerves it’s already long passed that point with Robbie. 

‘If one more bloody person complements me on that bloody calender,’ Robbie growls, opening the car door with more force than usual, ‘I won’t be responsible for me actions!’

James climbs into the car too, trying not to feel guilty. He couldn’t have predicted this response from the general public, but it’s beginning to seem like there’s not a single person left in Oxfordshire who hasn’t got a copy of the calender. Innocent is ecstatic at the funds raised, but this is the third time in less than a month that a suspect has mentioned it to Robbie and he’s getting more snappish with each one.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ James offers, genuinely contrite. It’s all his fault, after all. ‘I shouldn’t have made you do it.’

There’s a long pause, then Robbie sighs. ‘It’s not your fault, man. I could have said no. You didn’t want to do it either.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not the one who was forced into it,’ James protests, unhappy at Robbie letting him off this easily. He did it for his own selfish reasons and now Robbie's paying the price.

‘You didn’t have much choice either, with herself insisting,’ Robbie points out, and James is about to marshal another protest when Robbie speaks again. ‘It’s me own fault, really.’ His voice is quiet, an admission to something. He’s staring out of the windscreen when James looks at him, and there’s something on his face that James doesn’t like, something that looks like shame. ‘It was nice, to think someone thought I looked good enough for that. Nice to feel… attractive, I suppose. Even if I felt a bit silly, it was good to feel like I wasn’t just some sad, past it plod. Serves me right now that everyone’s taking the piss.’

‘No!’ It’s out of James’s mouth before he can think. ‘They aren’t taking the piss.’ He _aches_ at the thought that Robbie might believe that, can’t let him go on believing that. ‘That photo...’ James struggles to find a way to say it without revealing himself. ‘It’s a good photo,’ he manages at last. ‘It makes you look very capable and sturdy.’ He wishes he could offer more fulsome praise than that, tell Robbie his real thoughts. ‘And kind too,’ he adds lamely. Not surprisingly, Robbie doesn’t look convinced, and James _will not_ let this continue if he can help it. He takes a breath and tries again, tries for something approaching detachment. ‘Artistically,’ he begins, knowing he sounds like he’s about to begin a lecture but unable to help it, ‘the composition is well judged, drawing the viewer’s eye towards the subject – that would be you, sir -’ he clarifies, rolling his head to look at Robbie and getting a look of mingled curiosity and exasperation in return ‘- and making your face the focal point. The colour of the shirt is designed to provide a contrast against the backdrop and make your eyes stand out, and has the added advantage of defining the shape of your torso and hinting the contours of the muscles in your arms. It’s a very flattering portrait, sir,’ he summarises, moving to a different tack, ‘and beyond the aesthetic it hints at your many admirable qualities without trying to make you something you aren’t.’

He’s been facing forwards for most of this brief monologue, not wanting to risk Robbie seeing his face, and now he turns back, looking at Robbie and waiting for his judgement. He doesn’t hold his breath; the tell would be too obvious to Robbie, who knows him so well. He tries to breathe evenly and desperately wills down a betraying flush. 

There is a long, silent moment as Robbie stares at him, and James wonders if he’s expecting a mocking postscript, something to belie James’s offered praise. Neither of them says anything, the moment dragging out longer and beginning to become uncomfortable, and James wonders if he’s overstepped, gone too far in his desire not to see Robbie unhappy.

Eventually, Robbie seems to accept James isn’t taking the piss any more than everyone else is. He shakes his head in what looks a little like astonishment. ‘Well,’ he says, and to James’s eye it seems he’s blushing at the praise. ‘You’re the one who goes to reflections on postlapsarian gender thingummy. Suppose you know what you’re talking about, then.’ He’s definitely blushing slightly, and James releases his tension carefully, relieved he’s achieved his aim and got away with it. 

‘That’s meditations on postlapsarian female gender identity, sir’ he corrects, and accepts Robbie's rolled eyes as his due. ‘And I always know what I’m talking about.’

Robbie shakes his head again, muttering something that James can’t make out even in the close confines of the car. ‘Suppose we’d better get back to it,’ he adds louder, reaching forward to put the key in the car at last. He pulls out into a gap in the traffic, heading back towards the town centre. There’s a pause as he negotiates a mini roundabout, and James thinks the subject has been laid to rest. Not quite, though. 

‘Capable and sturdy, eh?’ Robbie says, grinning, and now who’s taking the piss?

‘And caring, sir,’ James reminds him, and bats his eyelashes at Robbie in an overly exaggerated manner. ‘Brenda still asks after you,’ he adds casually. ‘I’m sure she’d back me up.’

Robbie huffs. ‘Next time I’ll have to try an’ look more menacing,’ he grumbles, and James smiles to himself, happy to let the subject lie with Robbie's faith in himself restored. 

*

Robbie may be feeling mostly sanguine once more about the appreciation the calender has garnered him, but James is beginning to find it extremely frustrating. Robbie is so much more than a nice photo. He wishes some of there admiring women (and occasionally openly admiring men) could see this.

‘ _Nice_ arse,’ someone behind them comments, and James is pretty certain it was one of the trio of students they just passed. Neither he nor Robbie is turning to find out. 

‘Are they talking about you or me?’ Robbie mutters out of the side of his mouth. James is ninety percent sure they were talking about Robbie. His arse, after all, is excellent, in James’s considered opinion. 

‘Mine, sir,’ he says as blandly as he can. ‘As you pointed out, you’re the brains of this not-bad detective.’ 

‘I could be the beauty too,’ Robbie protests. ‘Doesn’t have to be one or the other.’

‘Then what would I be left with?’ James asks lightly. ‘Don’t worry, sir. You’ll always be the beauty in my eyes.’ He hopes he’s managed to inject enough sarcasm into his words to hide their truth.

‘If I’m going to be brains and beauty, I’m going to need me lunch soon,’ Robbie grumbles, James’s words passing without comment. James breathes a silent sigh of relief. 

‘Vicky Arms is round the corner,’ he offers, and Robbie flashes a smile at him. 

‘Thinking like that is what’ll make you the brains one day.’

‘I live in hope, sir,’ James retorts, and Robbie leads them on to the pub.

*

‘Pint, sir?’ James suggests, more for form than anything else as he reaches for his coat. He very much hopes Robbie doesn’t have other plans; James has been looking forward to this all day, his and Robbie's usual quiet Friday night pint and pub dinner. The week hasn’t been bad, just frustratingly taken up with what felt like an endless stream of admin and meetings, with a bonus seminar on ‘Respecting Sexuality and Gender in the Workplace.’ Not the liveliest week James has had. 

Robbie reaches for his coat too. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.

For a second James has no idea what he’s talking about, then the thing that he’s been trying to forget all week – and has apparently managed to a slightly too successful degree – reappears. Dammit. It’s DS Walker’s leaving do tonight. Forced socialisation with his colleagues taking the place of his cherished Friday routine, and on top of that it’s being held in The Carnelian Rooms, which is more trendy than James’s taste runs to and doesn’t even have a pub garden he can slink off too. But he can’t not show his face, and Robbie enjoys these things, more or less, so James will wind up going home early and alone so as not to end up standing around like a lemon, alternating staring awkwardly into space and hovering too close to Robbie and ruining his evening. Dammit again.

Some of this dread must be showing on his face; Robbie gives him a grin. ‘Cheer up lad, it’s not as bad as all that. Come on. We’ve probably got time for a quick fish supper on the way.’

Well, that does make up for things a little. James follows Robbie out of the office, already wondering how quickly he can leave the do later. 

The Carnelian Rooms is as not-his-sort-of-place as James remembered. The one saving grace is that it has Shotover beer in stock, so James gets two and tries not to wince too obviously at the loud and cheerful exuberance of, in his rough estimation, approximately everyone Walker’s ever met. 

Across the room, chatting to Grainger, Robbie looks a bit taken aback by the merriment too. Grainger wanders off as James appears with Robbie’s pint, and Robbie nods towards the other side of the room. ‘Come on, let’s take these over there.’

This side of the bar is marginally quieter, or at least less cramped, and there’s even a free table, one of the tiny spindly things the Rooms has, more for artistically resting a cocktail on than for two blokes to drink pints and put the week behind them at. Still, any port in a storm, especially as Walker’s fiancée has just arrived with even more people in tow, all hugging and kissing enthusiastically, apparently already well on their way to cheerful inebriation. 

Robbie shakes his head, taking a sip of his pint. ‘Poor Grainger. His sergeant’s abandoning him for Manchester, an’ he’s having to break in a new bagman.’ He looks at James, mock severely. ‘Don’t you go getting any ideas. I’m not having you running off to join another force without my say-so.’

‘As if I could leave you, sir,’ James replies, and busies himself with his pint to hide the truth in that statement. ‘Is it giving you ideas?’ he asks, when he thinks he can manages casual once again. ‘Tempted by the Mancunian lifestyle?’

‘Nah,’ Robbie tells him, settling back in his chair then leaning forwards again hurriedly as it gives a warning groan. ‘Oxford’s me home. Not leaving any time soon.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ James tells him, lifting his beer to toast that.

They sip their pints in companionable silence as the rest of the bar becomes louder and louder. Though initially he wanted to leave immediately, James tilts his head towards the bar, asking wordlessly if Robbie wants another. Robbie shakes his head in turn. ‘Be better to go back to mine. I’ve got a pack of Bridge, an’ we’ll be able to hear ourselves think.’

This suits James fine, and he takes a longer drink of his pint to hasten their departure. Robbie does the same, and they’re within sight of being able to make a swift exit when one of the group, on her way back from the bathroom, bumps into their table. Her offhand apology is derailed when she gets a good look at Robbie. ‘Oh my God!’

They both stare at her, a bit taken aback at her excitement. Robbie recovers first. ‘You alright there?’

‘Oh my God!’ she squeals again, the high sound thankfully lost in the excitement of a round of shots arriving at the other side of the pub. ‘You were on that calender!’

James can actually feel his heart sinking. Things were going so well. The last thing they want is another of Robbie's admirers shoehorn herself into their evening and delaying their escape. Beside him, Robbie shifts reluctantly. ‘Aye, I was.’

‘And you’re Geordie too!’ she exclaims, and promptly sits herself down in the unoccupied seat of a nearby table, turning immediately to face Robbie. ‘I love Geordies,’ she tells him. ‘Especially Geordies who look like you.’ She gives Robbie a thorough once over, any subtlety lost – along with her volume control – at least four drinks ago. ‘You looked right fit in that photo, but you’re even better in person.’ James might as well not be here, so focused is she on Robbie. ‘I was saying to Shelly,’ she continues, gesturing vaguely towards the other group, ‘that I’d absolutely do you.’

Christ. That’s blunt. Robbie is as taken aback as James, blinking in surprise. The woman doesn’t seem to notice. ‘I like an older man,’ she says, leaning forwards to show possibly slightly more cleavage than she intended. ‘Lots of experience.’

Beside him, James can feel Robbie’s surprise and discomfort radiating strongly. It’s a wonder the woman hasn’t picked up on it yet, even half pissed. Robbie looks like he’s about to say something, but the woman ploughs on before he can make a sound. ‘Mind, you looked younger in the photo,’ she says, still loudly, and abruptly James is furious. _I wouldn’t cast stones,_ he wants to tell her. _Dressing as lamb won’t make you any less mutton._ But that would be too mean, even if her hot pink fake leather mini really isn’t doing her any favours, and besides, Robbie looks uncomfortable enough as it is. The woman is still blathering on, God, is she actually suggesting Robbie get some sort of botox now? He’s really had enough.

Standing and reaching for his coat, James catches Robbie's eye and jerks his head to the door. For the first time since she sat down, the woman looks at him. ‘You going to the bar? Get me a Bacardi, thanks?’

‘We’re leaving,’ James tells her as coldly as possible. Beside him, Robbie stands too, and James doesn’t like how blank his face looks, like he’s hiding a hurt.

Unbelievably, the woman stands too, weaving a little as she does. ‘Good idea,’ she agrees, once again dismissing James and speaking only to Robbie. ‘Let’s go somewhere quieter. Can’t get to know you properly here.’ Her smile is probably supposed to be coy, inviting, suggesting the possibility of going home together. James will not allow her to think she’s in with a chance, not even for a minute. 

‘He’s taken,’ he tells her, even colder than before. This time she seems to pick up on his tone.

‘I don’t see anyone,’ she directs to James, tossing her head slightly and turning back to give Robbie another coy look. Robbie is still standing there, blank faced. He doesn’t say anything to back up James’s claim, and the woman is still looking at him with predatory intent, clearly not about to take James’s word for it without Robbie's confirmation. But Robbie isn’t giving it, and now the woman is looking at James as though she’s won, and James isn’t having that. 

‘Look again,’ he tells her, as superciliously as he can, and with a slightly awkward half-step to avoid his chair, he’s next to Robbie with a hand on his jaw, tilting his face up just the slightest bit. Robbie's blank expression is changing rapidly into shock but before he can say anything and give the game away James ducks down that last few centimetres and presses their lips together.

James has dreamed of kissing Robbie many, many times, always sadly aware that it wouldn’t come to pass. It feels fitting therefore that when he finally does kiss him, Robbie shows no signs of responding to the kiss. He’s utterly still in James’s hands, likely frozen in surprise, and James just hopes he can pull back before Robbie does, make it look less like he’s being pushed away. He knows it’s a risk, but he’s helpless not to move his lips, linger for an extra couple of seconds. Imagine this is real. If this is the only time he will be this close to Robbie, he wants to make the most of it, even if it’s nothing like he dreamed. 

Eventually he does have to break the kiss, pull away, though he lingers, just for a second, close enough to take in Robbie's face and feel the puff of air against his skin as Robbie exhales his held breath. Robbie's lips are ever so slightly damp from James’s mouth, and James burns the image into his brain, Robbie's face no longer shocked or blank, and James forces himself to turn away just as Robbie's eyes begin to flutter open. _You were making a point,_ he reminds himself, and turns to look at the woman, summoning a lazy smirk and raising an eyebrow. _Believe me now?_ he asks without words.

Rather than being embarrassed or put off as James hoped, she looks disturbingly calculating. ‘That was hot!’ she tells him, appreciative and still loud. ‘Your boyfriend’s not bad,’ she says, clearly addressing Robbie again to James’s frustration. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him too.’ She gives James the same once-over she gave Robbie when she first invited herself to join them, and James doesn’t like that look any more the second time round. Beside him he feels Robbie twitch, shock apparently worn off enough for him to rejoin the conversation. James braces himself for whatever’s going to come next.

‘I don’t share.’

Well, he didn’t expect that. Involuntarily he glances at Robbie, who’s now glaring at the woman with his best ‘Inspector Lewis is Not Impressed’ look. He carries on before she can do anything other than gape at him. ‘Come on, James.’ And he’s leading the way out of the bar, past the rest of the crowd, including more than a few of their colleagues who are giving them wide-eyed looks of astonishment, and out into the street.

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Everything feels supremely awkward. James can’t forget what he just did, and it certainly doesn’t help that he can still feel the phantom press of Robbie's lips against his. The cold air makes his skin feel hypersensitive and his fingers tingle where he once cupped Robbie's jaw. He desperately wants a cigarette, but that might mean losing the feel of Robbie on his skin.

At least, he muses, Robbie isn’t likely to ask for his transfer papers. That was a risk he didn’t fully consider in the rush of the moment, but now, with Robbie having carried on with the charade, James is aware of that near miss. Another governor probably would have already made sounds about it, but Robbie, he knows, is a fair man. If he hadn’t continued the pretence that they were a couple James would be much more worried, but as it is he’s more concerned that things between them don’t stay awkward and that everyone from work doesn’t get the wrong end of the stick.

Apparently reading his mind, as they so often seem to do, Robbie sighs. ‘That’s going to be all over the nick in about half an hour. Innocent’s going to have kittens.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ James replies, thankful he’s put some thought into this in the last few minutes. ‘We were defusing a situation that had the potential to turn hostile, whilst confirming that the modern police establishment supports the LGBT community.’

There’s a beat of silence before Robbie looks at him, side-on. ‘Think that’ll work?’ There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, and James lets that soak into him, relaxing some of the tension.

‘Got to be better than saying she was being rude and I did it to prove a point,’ he says honestly.

‘Aye, reckon you’re right there,’ Robbie agrees, shaking his head. ‘Confirming police support for the LGBT community. Suppose that ties in with that seminar an’ all.’

‘It wasn’t technically in the workplace, though,’ the pedant in James points out. Robbie rolls his eyes.

‘Don’t reckon that’ll matter too much. It was at a work-related function and involved an officer who’s part of the LGBT community. I’d say that counts.’

James stops in the street, and Robbie continues for a step or two before realising James has dropped behind and turning back. James can feel himself standing tall, more stiffly, bristling even as he acknowledges Robbie's words as the truth. Still, he doesn’t like people giving him labels. ‘An officer who’s part of the LGBT community. And you know that for a fact, sir?’ he bites out, possibly more harshly than he should do towards his friend. 

Robbie looks uncomfortable, pulling on his ear and avoiding James’s eyes. ‘Wasn’t talking about you, man,’ he mutters, everything about him screaming discomfort.

It takes a second to parse, then James’s mind goes blank with shock. ‘You?’ he chokes out after a minute of stunned silence.

Now Robbie looks like he’s bristling. ‘Your generation didn’t invent bisexuality y’know,’ he huffs, and he’s glaring at James in challenge. James just blinks at him, and there’s an odd silent stand off as Robbie waits for James’s response and James desperately tries to reorder his world with this new information.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ he murmurs eventually, mind beginning to settle, touched that Robbie would trust him with this information. ‘It means a lot that you’d trust me with this,’ he adds, trying to convey his sincerity. It works; Robbie deflates, and James takes a step forward and lays a hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. Robbie looks at him, searching his face to check he means his words. James lets him, lets him reach his conclusions, watches as Robbie nods firmly, accepting James’s words. Without speaking, they continue down the street, automatically walking in step.

‘You’re not bothered, then?’ Robbie asks after a few meters. James looks at him, and Robbie carries on before he can speak. ‘You didn’t know I was bi when you kissed me.’

Ah. ‘Not bothered,’ he replies, and takes the plunge. ‘You’re not the first bloke I’ve kissed, sir.’

Beside him, Robbie nods meditatively. ‘Suppose it’s a good thing one of knows what they’re doing.’ James can see the flush working its way up Robbie's cheeks, and though James’s first instinct is to question – he is a police officer, after all – he bites his tongue. 

‘I won’t asks for a review then, sir,’ he says instead, gently sarcastic, as they turn down another street, heading slowly towards Robbie's flat. 

‘I dunno,’ Robbie replies, off hand. ‘Kissed enough lasses in me time to have some basis for comparison, I reckon.’ 

‘Go on then,’ James says, egging him on even as a part of him warns this is a bad idea. ‘Let’s hear it. Marks out of ten.’

‘Don’t think I should,’ Robbie shoots back. ‘Wouldn’t want you sulking from a bad report.’

‘It would have helped to have something to work with,’ James points out. ‘Based on that one kiss alone, I wouldn’t be able to give you a very high mark, sir.’

‘Special circumstances!’ Robbie protests, sounding amused rather than insulted. ‘Wasn’t exactly expecting to be kissed out of the blue like that!’

‘So you’re saying,’ James muses, the devil on his shoulder prompting him, ‘that in order to give each other a fair assessment we should try it again?’ There’s a warning voice in his head suggesting he’s pushing things further than he should if he wants to be able to keep his feelings secret, but he ignores it. 

Robbie gives him a look. ‘I’m sayin’ Alice Cowans tried that in school an’ it didn’t work then,’ he tells James, grinning. ‘Not likely to work now.’ He shakes his head. ‘Never thought you’d be taken in by that bloody calender,’ he adds jokingly.

James gives him a superior look. ‘I’ll have you know, sir, that I recognised your many excellent qualities long before you were selected to represent Oxfordshire’s finest.’ Robbie will never know how truly James speaks. 

Robbie shakes his head again, amused. ‘Go on with you, man. At least you’re willing to save me from the others.’ He’s not looking upset in any way, and James is deeply grateful that he didn’t take that woman’s words to heart. 

They turn onto Robbie's street a few minutes later. James hesitates for a minute, and Robbie tilts his head towards the building with a frown. ‘You coming in?’ 

James nods and starts up the walkway, momentary caution abandoned. Just because something momentous happened in his life doesn’t mean it happened to Robbie too. No reason to worry that Robbie doesn’t want him in his flat. He’s not seemed at all bothered by the whole thing, actually, and James is more relieved than he can express even to himself. One ill-judged moment could have cost him so much.

Inside the flat James hangs up his coat and takes off his shoes, Robbie ahead of him fetching the beer. They slump onto the couch together, and James feels everything in him settle at the press of Robbie along his side. These are the moments he cherishes most. 

Robbie takes a long drink from his glass and stares contemplatively at the ceiling. When he speaks, James doesn’t know at first to what he’s referring. ‘Is there much difference?’

‘In what, sir?’ He rolls his head to look at Robbie, who’s still staring at the ceiling, looking almost shy.

‘Kissing a bloke to kissing a woman,’ Robbie huffs, still staring upwards. James stares at him, trying to think how to answer that. He takes long enough that Robbie shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. ‘Ah, ignore me,’ he mutters. 

‘No,’ James protests. ‘It’s just...’ he doesn’t know where he’s going with that. ‘It’s a bit different,’ he says instead. ‘But not as much as you might think. It’s more about the person.’ He thinks Robbie will understand, hopes he will. He’s not sure he has the fortitude to discuss kissing with Robbie without giving something away. 

Robbie does understand. ‘Aye, it’s different when there’s feelings involved,’ he muses, and James nods in agreement. He’s kissed a number of people, not that many in the grand scheme of things but more than a handful and certainly enough to have made the same comparison.

‘You kissed many blokes then?’ Robbie asks, showing once more the fearful symmetry of their thoughts. ‘Sorry,’ he backtracks a second later. ‘Forget it. None of my business.’

He’s right; technically it isn’t any of his business, but Robbie has trusted James with so much today James feels he can at least share this little bit in return. It’s not obligation, it’s friendship.

‘A few,’ he answers quietly, the both of them still staring at the ceiling. ‘It took a while after I finished with the seminary to come to terms with that side of things. A lot of soul searching.’

James can feel Robbie's nod through the couch cushions. ‘Aye. Took me a long time to realise it was more than just… noticing.’ He nudges James companionable as he lifts his glass to his lips. ‘Took me longer to realise I was feeling things,’ he adds quietly when he’s taken a swallow. 

James lifts his own bottle to his mouth with a hand that suddenly trembles. No. God, no. He can’t do this. If he’s understanding Robbie right, Robbie's met someone, some man, and he’s thinking of pursuing a relationship with him. He’s probably about to ask James’s advice, and James will have to sit here and try and help and not break down and ask Robbie why this man, why he couldn’t think of James in that way.

He doesn’t lower his arm until the last of the beer is gone, then he uses the empty bottle as an excuse to get up. ‘Another?’ he asks, heading to the kitchen before Robbie can respond. Hidden from view, he takes a moment to brace himself against the counter and breathe. So this is what it feels like when your heart is breaking. He thought he knew before, but it’s nothing to this pain. 

_Pull yourself together,_ he tells himself firmly after a minute of deep breathing. _Go back in there and be the good and supportive friend you should be, not the selfish bastard you’re being right now._

He’s wearing his best smile when he walks back into the living room, and he hopes it doesn’t look as shaky as it feels. He drops a second open bottle onto the table beside Robbie and sits back down on the couch, far enough away this time that he’s not pressing against Robbie. That would be too much right now.

‘Can I ask?’ he begins, trying to sound as supportive as possible. ‘If you want to talk?’ Beside him, Robbie is silent, and the few inches between them when usually they’d be pressed as close as James could get away with, it suddenly feels like a gulf. ‘Do I know him?’ he presses to get things rolling. Things rolling other than his stomach, that is.

Robbie shifts a little. ‘You sure you want to know?’ he asks, and it’s ingrained in James not to let Robbie sound this uncertain without trying to help. 

He nudges Robbie gently with his elbow. ‘What are friends for? Maybe I can help.’ He can sense Robbie looking at him, even if he can’t look at Robbie right this second. It’s probably a disbelieving look anyway. ‘I may not date much,’ he points out, ‘but as you already said, sir, I’m the one with the experience here.’

Robbie lets out a breath. ‘Would you be up for using me name? Reckon I’d rather be having this conversation with James me friend, not James me sergeant.’ He still sounds uncertain, and if this is what he need to be settled James will provide. 

‘Of course, Robbie,’ he replies, and swallows down the regret that the first time he gets to use Robbie's name with Robbie's permission is in these circumstances. 

‘Thanks, James.’ Robbie sounds unusually solemn. He hasn’t touched the new bottle of beer, and James can’t even remember if he asked for it or not. Maybe James can drink it. He’ll probably spend most of his weekend plastered anyway, after this conversation. 

‘Go on then,’ he urges gently. ‘Let’s hear about this amazing bloke who’s made you question your sexual identity.’ This at least wins a small laugh from Robbie. 

‘I’ve known him for a while,’ Robbie begins slowly. ‘He’s been there for me ever since we met. He’s always doing things to help. Took me ages to see him properly, an’ I felt like a right muppet when I realised how much he meant to me.’ He stops, tipping his pint glass back and forth but not taking a drink. ‘He’s good looking an’ he gets loads of attention, but I don’t think he realises. He doesn’t think of himself that way.’

James can’t think of a single one of Robbie's mates who fits that description and that in itself is a separate hurt – he thought he knew Robbie, and yet here’s this very important person who he’s not even heard mention of.

‘Sounds like a good person,’ he manages. ‘Have you said anything to him yet?’

‘No.’ Robbie still sounds unsure. ‘Don’t know if he’d think of me like that. What if he just likes me as a friend, like? I’d be lost without him.’

‘Friends is good,’ James suggests. ‘You can build on friendship. Do you know if he’s interested in men?’

‘He is,’ Robbie replies, sounding certain, and that’s at least something. It would be much harder for James to win Robbie the second love of his life if the bloke was straight. ‘But he’s younger than me, an’ I don’t know if he’d look at an older man.’

_Younger than Robbie._ It feels like a second blow to James’s already fractured heart. James wants to wrap his arms around himself and hunch over to contain the damage, but he has to stay where he is, has to help Robbie strategise.

‘I’ve told you before, you’re an attractive man, Robbie,’ James tells him, setting aside his beer. It would probably be better if he kept a clear head through this, got it over with quickly. ‘I wouldn’t be too quick to see that as a problem. Look at all your fans from the calender,’ he teases, trying to lighten the mood. ‘They don’t think you’re too old. Lots of people would be delighted to have you,’ he finishes, smiling at Robbie and nudging briefly with his knee to emphasise the point. 

‘Lots of people would, would they?’ Robbie murmurs, sounding even less certain than before. James nods, and Robbie takes a breath. ‘What about you?’

‘Pardon?’ What’s going on now? Why does Robbie care about what James thinks? James is just here to try and get Robbie his man.

‘You, James.’ Robbie looks resolved now. ‘I was talking about you. Would you want to be with me?’

‘Me?’ It feels like there’s a loose wire somewhere in James’s head. Nothing’s making sense. ‘Would I want to be with you?’ 

‘Aye. I was talking about you before. Didn’t you realise?’

‘You want me?’ It feels like it’s beginning to sink in, but he’s still not completely there. ‘Why?’

‘Like I said, you’ve been there for me ever since we met. You’ve been the best mate anyone could possibly want. It took me a long time to realise it, but I got there in the end.’ James watches as Robbie swallows. ‘D’you think you might want it too?’ He reaches out, closes the distance between them and gently brushes his fingers across James’s where his hand rests on the couch.

This small contact is the thing that brings everything back into focus. _This is really happening._ Carefully, he turns his hand to lace his fingers with Robbie's. ‘Yes. Absolutely. I want it,’ he says, promises, vows. ‘I want you.’

‘Thank fuck,’ Robbie swears, exhaling in relief, and James can’t help it – he laughs, everything in him suddenly, ridiculously light. He holds Robbie's hand tighter to stop himself floating away and slumps sideways into Robbie, shaking with laughter the whole time.

Robbie unlaces their fingers, slinging his now free arm over James’s shoulders to pull him closer. ‘Not that funny,’ he grumbles, but he’s smiling as he does, and James just buries his face in Robbie's shoulder and lets himself laugh, lets himself shake until he stills, shock and adrenaline spent, resting right where he wants to be, safe in Robbie's arms. 

‘Feeling better?’ Robbie murmurs, lips pressing into James’s hair. James nods, smiling at the sensation as the words tickle against his scalp. He’s reluctant to sit up but he wants to see Robbie's face. Robbie doesn’t stop him, but he makes sure James is still pressed close. ‘My bonny lad,’ he says tenderly, smiling, and James can’t resist, has never been able to resist Robbie. 

‘Robbie,’ he whispers, and Robbie looks at him with such wonderful affection that James is once more helpless to resist and closes the distance between them to lightly press his lips against Robbie's.

The kiss lasts a second, less than a second, before James pulls back, but it feels far more intimate and momentous than any kiss James has experienced before, far better than the first, awkward, one-sided kiss in the bar. He opens his eyes just enough to allow himself to find Robbie's lips again before going for another.

*

Long minutes and an accidentally knocked over beer bottle later, they are once more sitting far enough apart to permit talking but not far enough to have any difficulty closing the distance for more kisses. James smiles at Robbie. Is incapable of not smiling at him, truth be told. Robbie smiles back. ‘Can hardly believe this,’ he says, squeezing James’s fingers. 

‘Nor can I,’ James agrees, leaning forwards for another kiss. ‘I never thought you’d be interested in me.’

‘Always interested in you,’ Robbie teases gently. ‘More than interested.’

‘I’m a very interesting person,’ James agrees.

‘Don’t I know it.’ Robbie sounds disgruntled, and James frowns at him, puzzled. ‘All those people flirting with my James.’

‘Excuse me?’ James gasps, even as he shivers inside at the possessive ‘my James.’ ‘People flirting with me? Which one of us keeps getting accosted in bars?’

Robbie shakes his head. ‘You really don’t see it, do you? Ever since that bloody calender came out, I can’t take you anywhere without someone trying to get you to look at them. ‘S why I decided to say something before I lost my chance.’

James shakes his head in utter disbelief. ‘You’re imagining things. I’m the one who’s been sitting quietly while you fight off women everywhere you go!’ He shakes his head again. ‘That’s why I kissed you earlier. I couldn’t stand your groupies any more.’ 

‘Is that right?’ Robbie sounds dubious. James nods determinedly, leaning closer.

‘Pure jealousy on my part,’ he admits, takes another kiss. ‘I had to stake my claim.’

‘And I’ve staked mine right back,’ Robbie replies, satisfied. He sighs, mingled contentment and resignation. ‘Guess I’ll have to stop moaning about that bloody calender then,’ he continues. ‘Now some good’s come of it.’

James rears back. ‘Don’t do that!’ he protests. ‘Innocent might make us do it next year too!’

‘I’ll retire before that,’ Robbie grumbles, pulling him back down. ‘Not bloody doing it again. Once was enough. Peterson can have a go instead.’

‘I’m sure he’ll rise to the task admirably,’ James agrees. ‘And surely they won’t want the same people two years in a row.’

‘Probably right,’ Robbie concurs. ‘Shame, though. That photo of you in the break room was stuck right on the mugs cupboard. Handy excuse for sneaking a look.’

‘I must admit to paying extra attention to the notice board,’ James tells him, a small thrill running through him at Robbie's admission. ‘Excellent strategic positioning.’

‘And we call ourselves detectives.’ Robbie shakes his head, pulling James even closer.

‘We got there in the end,’ James points out, sinking into him. ‘That’s the important thing.’

He thinks Robbie makes a noise of agreement, but it’s lost in the kiss. It doesn’t matter, James thinks vaguely. The kiss is answer enough.

*

Epilogue

‘Absolutely not,’ Robbie growls. ‘I blame her for all of this.’ 

James, not at all put off, wraps both his arms around Robbie and pulls him back against his chest. ‘So do I,’ he breathes into Robbie's ear, eliciting a pleased shiver. ‘That’s why I thought she might be ideal for the job.’ He nips lightly at Robbie's earlobe, soothing the small hurt with a kiss. ‘What do you say, love?’

‘One day, I’ll learn to say no to you,’ Robbie sighs, smiling ruefully, tugging James down into a proper kiss. 

The wedding photos Kim takes are, needless to say, absolutely perfect.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Turn your eyes away, for they overpower me_ – is from the song of Solomon.


End file.
